Moral support
by Heidinanookie
Summary: Wilson tries to cope with Amber's death through distancing himself from House. Soon he has to find out that he can't just cross out his best friend from his life. Meanwhile, Cuddy fears for House's life and tries to help him the only way she know how...


Title: Moral Support

Context: This story is set shortly after Amber's death at the end of season 4. Wilson POV

A/N: Please don't ask me what made me chose that title! The story just appeared in my mind with it on top. Also, contrary to most of what I write, this is House-Wilson friendship. I discovered it while rummaging through tons of unfinished stories and I found that it only needed a few sentences as an introduction in order to somewhat count as a finished piece.

Special thanx to the wonderful Blackmare for the beta! Check out her awesome stories here at fanfiction. net!

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btw, yesterday **145 **people read this story and not one of them left any comments, so: FEEDBACK PLEASE!

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**Moral support**

She's dead. She's dead. She's dead… The thought is repeated in your mind like a broken record. It's the only thing left of the world. Amber is dead. And it's all House's fault. You can't tell how you know this but it is true. And she's dead…

The phone rings, ripping you out of your thoughts. You pick it up by reflex, squeezing your eyes shut and pitching the bridge of you nose to rub at the tear tracks in the corners of your eyes. "Yes?" Your throat feels like you've been crying for hours – which you have – as the single word rasps through it.

„What did you do to him?" It's Cuddy's voice. She sounds so angry you wonder for a moment what she means, what could agitate her that much. "What?" you ask, confused.

"I said, what did you _do_ to him?" She enunciates every word carefully, practically hissing.

Your brain finally kicks into gear then. "Oh. Nothing! I did nothing to him!" You sound defensive and you know you do but you can't think of why that is. After all, you didn't _do_ anything! You feel your anger rising and momentarily overlaying your grief. Everything's about _him_. Always was and - by the looks of it – always will be. Even now, when you know that technically the world should revolve around you and your broken heart, House is still the center of things, the center of everybody's life, including yours.

"Then why is he lying there alone in his room, refusing to see anyone, refusing to talk, refusing to eat? Hell, he's even refusing his Vicodin! So I ask you again: What did you do to him?"

House not eating? Not taking his _Vicodin_? A twinge of concern stirs in your gut before you remember that you don't care. You are tired of all of this. "Look. I don't know what's wrong with him. Whatever it is, I didn't do anything."

"Yes." Cuddy's voice is cold. "You didn't do _anything_. That's exactly the point. While he did _everything_ for you. Any now you're sitting there at home, wallowing in self-pity when he needs you now, after all he's been through for you!"

At her accusing words the glowing fury in you sparks to life. "I just lost my _girlfriend_ because of him! You, you, you can't expect me to be there _thanking_ him for it! I've got enough to deal with right now as it is!" You wonder why your breath is suddenly so laboured before you realize that you're about to cry. Again. Why is the phone still in your hand when you couldn't care less what the one on the other end of the line has to say to you? You swallow a sob when you realize that you _do_ care, scolding yourself internally and telling yourself to stop it.

"Don't you think he's suffering too? He's asking himself if he's lost his best friend over this. You're torturing him!" The last words are like a whiplash and you feel stung, the pain of them fuelling your fury. "Well, you better go tell him 'yes' then to stop his anxious guessing!"

You regret the words as soon as they are out but again you smother the feeling immediately, thinking you're quickly getting rather good at this denial-thing.

You hear her inhale sharply as if you've just slapped her but she's quick to gather her bearings again. "James, please." Her voice becomes soft. She's pleading now on House's behalf. You briefly wonder if House knows what she's doing right now. Did he put her up to this? No. No way. You know him too well to seriously suspect something like this. Is he really that bad? You decide to take it a little more carefully. "What do you want me to say? I can't help you!"

She exhales a shaky laugh. "You're the _only_ thing that can help him now. And you don't need to say anything. Just… just show him you're still there, that you didn't forget him." It sounds so easy when she says it but things are often easier said than done. "Did you ever think about what _I_ want? Maybe I don't want to see him. Maybe _I _want to forget _him_!"

You know you've lost once you utter the lie and put it out in the open, seeing it for what it is. She ignores your protest, her voice becoming stern and commanding. "James, get your ass over here and into his room right now or I'll hold you personally responsible for any more harm he causes himself because you're not there." You hear the click in the line as she hangs up, not giving you the opportunity to answer and tell her, no, you won't come over. You really don't want to. All you desire is to leave that part of your life behind you. It's not your fault if it includes your best friend.

You smash the phone down onto its cradle with a lot more force than you intended. Damnit! You shouldn't even be second-guessing yourself about this, musing over it when all your really want is to curl up into a tight ball at the bottom of the closet and cry until you fall asleep form exhaustion. Repeat ad libitum.

It's not fair that you should be asked to worry about someone else when you can barely figure out what's up with yourself. You need time.

Time away from everything, most of all House.

You need to get rid of the pull that's always dragging you back towards him and into the vortex of his misery.

It takes a lot of effort to ignore the call. The past 15 years have almost made it into a reflex, a part of the essence of your being to always heed these cries, but not this time. You cradle your head into your hands, partly covering your ears so you won't have to hear the nagging little voice urging you to get up and forget your own needs and rush to his aid.

You can't promise you'll be able to swim against the current from now on and forever but you'll try at least for as long as you can.

In the end, you don't know for how long your strength would have lasted for after three months of torturous days and sleepless nights it's him who's finding you.

*end*

Thanx for reading. Feedback is much appreciated.


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